


The Most Exquisite Kind

by ensorcel



Category: Late Night (2019)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29818317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensorcel/pseuds/ensorcel
Summary: It's been five years since Molly was hired atTonight with Katherine Newbury. She's now head writer, at the top of her game, and Walter Lovell has just died.A look into grief and the importance of a good friend.
Relationships: Katherine Newbury/Molly Patel
Kudos: 6





	The Most Exquisite Kind

**Author's Note:**

> well i actually watched this movie when it came out, but revisited it today in a rewatch. this is that result of the rewatch because i love angst and pain and was in the middle of writing some major Pain in my other fic. these two were so much fun to write and basically a second mirandy! 
> 
> unbeta-ed because i wrote this at 3 am and my beta was asleep like a responsible person. enjoy!

Molly was in the office when the news hit the headlines. She was scrolling through The Washington Post when Walter Lovell’s name caught her eye. 

_ WALTER LOVELL, LEGENDARY WRITER, TRANSPORTED TO NEW YORK PRESBYTERIAN HOSPITAL.  _

Katherine wasn’t in that day.

Molly’s stomach sank when she realised why. 

Walter’s waning health was no secret, but Molly would be lying if she wasn’t a little shocked. She closed the tab and switched over to her blank writing document. 

Her phone sat on her desk, almost mocking her to call Katherine. To ask if there was anything she needed even if Molly knew that the answer would be some mocking insult—even if much had changed in the past five years, there were some things that never would. 

Molly almost smirked at the thought and tapped away at her laptop, throwing herself into the day’s work. 

It was what Katherine would want, anyways. 

Yeah. What she’d want. 

As the late afternoon approached and the sun began to wane, Katherine had yet to step into the office and everyone was looking to Molly for guidance when in reality, she hadn’t called her boss once—Brad would’ve done it ages ago, she was sure. 

As it struck 4:30 and they were scheduled for taping soon, Molly finally picked up the phone and rang the first number in her speed dial. 

It went to voicemail.

Molly wondered if they were going black, like they had when the scandal regarding Katherine’s emails were leaked. She exchanged a glance with Tom, who was helping Cathy (one of their newer hires) with some changes in the monologue. He just shrugged and Molly, before really thinking anything through, grabbed her coat, hailed a cab, and found herself halfway across the city before she knew it. She called Katherine again and again and again, only for all of it to head to voicemail. 

The hospital reeked of antiseptic. She was vividly reminded of Dad’s sickness. 

Politely asking for the room of Walter Lovell—with then the reassurance that she was definitely not a reporter—she headed for the fifth floor with her heels echoing on the floors and her heart up in her throat. 

When she knocked on the door of the private room, there was no response. Molly tried again. 

And again, until she cracked it open. 

Katherine was sitting in the chair next to the bed, her finger in her mouth and her other hand tapping her leg. Her husband was asleep. 

“Katherine?” 

Her neck snapped up and Molly immediately regretted coming. She should’ve solved this issue on her own. Should’ve just decided to go dark for a week. 

Katherine’s eyes were rimmed red and her makeup was smeared and her hair was a mess. 

Molly should’ve stayed at the damned office. 

“What?” 

Well, if she was already here, she might as well go through with it. 

“It’s almost six,” Molly said, looking apologetic. Katherine just stared at her. 

“And?” 

“We should’ve started filming an hour ago,” Molly said gently. Katherine glared at her. 

“What is it that I pay you for?” she snapped and suddenly, Molly almost felt like she was back at her first day. 

“We’ll go black for the week, gotcha,” Molly said quickly, ducking out of the room and closing the door behind, leaning on it and taking a deep breath. 

She called Tom immediately, followed by the show’s publicist and communications director. 

Her apartment was dark when she came home that night. 

Walter was dead the next morning. 

It hit the morning news, just as Molly was making her coffee. It was all over the television. Montages of his work. Montages of Katherine’s work. Exposés of their marriage. 

Against her good judgement, Molly took the subway to Katherine’s townhouse that morning. Slipping in the key that she was given a couple of years ago, the house was empty and she felt like she was intruding—she was, but it was for good reason—even if she’d slowly earned Katherine’s trust over the years. 

She cleaned up the meal left in the kitchen. 

Fluffed the pillows. Turned off the television that was still running. Called Tom and told him that she’d be in late that day. Vacuumed. Dusted the shelves. 

She heard the door open and immediately tensed, even as she approached the hallway. Katherine was standing there in yesterday’s clothes. She had a cigarette in hand that Molly wanted to pluck away and throw out.

“What are you doing here?” Katherine said, frowning. Her words slurred a little and Molly wondered if she’d been drinking. There was no smell of alcohol, however. 

“Because you need me to be here,” was Molly’s reply. 

Katherine just nodded and stepped out of her heels and threw her coat onto the couch. 

She headed upstairs and Molly didn’t follow. 

Prepared a cup of tea and some toast. 

Katherine’s bedroom door was shut.

Molly knocked on it before entering, to find Katherine sitting at her vanity, removing her makeup. 

She set the tray on the table with a thud and met Katherine’s eyes in the mirror. They were red. 

“Do you need me to go?” 

Katherine paused and almost tilted her head. 

“No,” was all she said before falling into bed and Molly nodded, heading back downstairs. 

She grabbed her laptop from her bag and settled on the couch with a cup of coffee.

Molly stayed for the next three days. Katherine remained in her room for most of the time. Molly barely saw her. 

She wrote up jokes and openings and monologues and drafts that felt everything from empty to warm to joyous to pious. 

The days were quiet—different from Molly’s hectic times in the office and the everlasting construction from outside of her apartment. The paycheque was good enough for her to move from Coney Island, but not enough to escape the constant hustle and bustle of New York City. 

Grammercy Park was good enough for that. Of course, Katherine would never settle for less.

Molly told the housekeeper to take the next week off and she hadn’t stepped foot into the office since the beginning of the week. 

She stopped home sometimes but spent most of her time on the couch. 

Katherine had yet to come downstairs. 

She didn’t know when the funeral was. She wasn’t sure if Katherine even knew. 

Katherine left her room five days after Walter’s death. She was dressed perfectly, as if she was going to host that night. It was also in all black. 

Molly didn’t question it. 

“Would you like me to come with you?” 

Katherine nodded. 

“There’s a change of clothes in the guest room if you need it.” 

Molly leaned in and gave her a warm hug. 

Katherine seemed surprised, but patted her on the back. 

The funeral was a small, private function. They were in the isolated Hamptons and Katherine didn’t shed a tear.

Katherine reached over in the car and squeezed her hand on the way back. 

They ate dinner in silence in her kitchen accompanied by a bottle of wine. 

“There’s people you can speak to, if needed,” Molly said, the alcohol loosening her tongue. Katherine just glared at her. 

“I know,” she replied. She bit her lip. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. It sounded like a confession. 

Molly reached over the take and took her hand. It was cold. 

“We keep going,” Molly replied. Her voice was firm. “You keep going.” 

Katherine just looked at her. 

Molly stayed the night again. 

They went back to work after a week. Molly finished up her writing and sat in the writer’s room for the first time in days. It was quiet. 

The entire office was quiet. 

The first show back was quiet. Everything was so goddamn quiet. 

It infuriated her in a way that the silence of Katherine’s home never had. 

Katherine stopped by her office later that evening. 

“Come on,” she said. “It’s late. We should be going.” 

Molly gave her a strange look but didn’t question her. 

She stayed in the guest bedroom that night. 

“Do you still need me to stay?” 

“Yes.” 

Molly stayed. 

She was running out of clothes to not-wash and re-wear. She didn’t want to borrow Katherine’s laundry room. 

She was tired of listening to the whispers of the staff when they saw her getting out of the car with Katherine. 

(Though, she wouldn’t lie: The chauffeur and the townhouse and the very quiet neighbourhood were very nice.) 

But sometimes Molly missed her bed.

She dropped by her house for a couple changes of clothes during her lunch break. 

Katherine came by her office that evening like she did every night. 

They ate dinner in silence. Sometimes Katherine cooked. Sometimes it was Molly. 

If either of them thought it was strange, none of them voiced it.

Molly was tired. 

She missed her home. (She didn’t miss the subway.) 

“You can leave, if you want,” Katherine said one dinner. 

Molly just shook her head. 

Her clothes slowly moved. Her books came with them. The guest bedroom was no longer blank walls and blank floors. 

Katherine didn’t say anything. 

Molly didn’t either. 

They were talking more during dinner, though. More like their late night drinks back at the office when Walter was still alive. 

Their ratings were dropping a little, but Molly couldn’t find it in her to care. Tom would deal with it. 

“I wish I could take it for you,” Molly whispered one night. Katherine looked at her, frowning. 

“What do you mean?” 

Her accent was crisp. Sharp. Despite all this, Molly found it the warmest thing in the world. 

“Your pain, your grief,” Molly said. “I understand it.” 

“Oh?” 

“My father died when I was twenty-three.” 

“Oh.” 

“I miss him everyday.” 

“It really doesn’t end, does it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” 

“Mhm.” 

“But it sways. It softens.” 

“My parents have long passed, but I think about them everyday.” 

“You learn.” 

“Mhm.”

  
  


A year after Walter died, Molly had practically moved in. Her apartment was for storage at this point. 

Katherine was a good roommate—would you even call her that, since it was her house that Molly was living in at this point? 

Katherine had asked her to stay and she did. 

She always did. 

“Do you find this strange?” Molly asked, tongue-tied from the wine. 

“No.” 

“Me either.” 

Katherine’s skin was soft, Molly knew. 

Her lips were even softer. 

They kissed over dinner, in Katherine’s kitchen where the day was dark and the house was a little cold and Molly, well Molly, was right at home. 

“We learn, don’t we,” Katherine said, smiling. 

“We do,” was all Molly said, before leaning in again. 

Katherine was warm, like spring. Like growth, renewal. Starting again. 

Molly stayed in Katherine's bedroom that night. 

**FIN.**

> _ “It is an art of the most exquisite kind to touch someone’s soul before touching their skin.” _ —Ali Y. 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! i hope you enjoyed and leave a comment or kudo if you did <3


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